


fragments, returned

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Fix-It, Other, References to Character Death, background Clem/Perennial, spoilers for up to episode 41 of partizan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27795940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: “Yeah, Broun, if that’s what you want, that’s easy for me to promise.”Sometimes the universe makes it hard to keep your promises. Sometimes, though, the forces at play decide to help you keep one.
Relationships: Kal'mera Broun/Valence
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	fragments, returned

“Tell Broun I’m sorry.”

The words echo, after the explosion, their own voice distorting around them.

“ T e l l B r o u n I ‘ m s o r r y . TellBrounI’msorry. Tell Broun I’m sorry.”

It’s strange - in the blinding white of the explosion, it’s almost like they can see the outline of Broun’s ship, pulling them closer. They can’t see Broun, but they can feel the impression of them in the handful of repairs that have already been made, and something  _ tugs _ at them and they close their eyes. If this is the end, then they want to hold onto that at the last thing they’ll ever see, even if it’s not really there.

_ Broun, I’m sorry, I wish- _

There’s a rush in their ears as if they were falling, the sound of it tearing at them and Valence  _ screams _ and then-

  
  
  
  


And then they wake up.

  
  
  
  


Their vision gathers slowly, colours swirling out of the darkness to form shapes, the shapes slowly shifting into something more recognisable, even if they’re not quite sure yet what exactly it is that they’re recognising.

They’re in a city of some kind, purple-pink dawn light illuminating the tall buildings above them. It looks like an old city, a little battered but with enough new repairs on top that they think it must be an occupied one. In the distance, they can hear bells chiming, people moving around as they start their day, or end it.

Something warm touches their face and their focus sharpens, a surprised huff of laughter rasping out of them. It’s a cat, looking down at them with shining purple eyes. The cat blinks, once, and then lets out a chirped meow, butting its head against them again.

They push themselves up on reflex, a jolt of surprise as they look down to see that they have a body. It doesn’t look like their same one, wires and what looks like some kind of plant curling around copper, with a shining, crystalline plating over their torso. They flex their hands and they can feel the movement of the machinery inside them, the effort of it. This body feels old, much older than their previous body. They flex their hands again, feeling the click of gears inside them.

A gust of wind blows through the alleyway and sensors in this body alert them to a change in air temperature, although thankfully they don’t feel the cold itself. It does, however, make them feel exposed, and they ease themselves up, testing the balance of their new body. They take a slow step and then another, making their way over the cracked cobblestones. They need to find some way to make contact with the others.

The cat twines itself around their legs and then trots off down the alleyway, pausing at the end and looking back at them.

“Okay,” says Valence, “Just give me a minute, whoever you are.”

The cat meows again, it’s tail curling around itself. As Valence reaches it it hops up, heading down the still-empty street. Valence follows. It feels like as good a plan as any.

They look at the buildings as they pass, a jumble of little apartments and shopfronts, half of which seem as though they’ve been empty for a long time. There are the signs of life here and there - the lights are on in a few of the windows, the smell of baking bread coming from one of the shops.

There’s another scent too, getting stronger as they follow the cat along the winding street. Sage, they think. Perhaps there’s some kind of farm nearby.

It’s possible, although the streets don’t look untouched by the war, but there’s a sense of peace, of safety, that Valence hasn’t felt from a place in a long time. The image of Broun’s ship swims in their mind, and they stumble on the cobblestones before they right themselves. They take a breath, feeling the faint whirring of their new circuitry. The Blue Channel had felt safe, too, but that had been more to do with the person inside it.

The base of a tower comes into view, larger than the other structures around it. Plants curl around it, covering the white stone in a haze of green. It’s not until they get closer that they realise what it is - sage, the time purple flowers just beginning to open in the morning light. Valence reaches out, touching the leaves. The petals shiver in the breeze.

The cat twines itself around their legs again, drawing their attention to it as it heads towards a door at the base of the tower. Like the tower, the door is unadorned, the sage only just brushing the doorframe as though it were allowing them entry. When they try the handle, it’s open. The cat brushes past them, into the dimly lit entry-way.

“Wait-” says Valence, immediately stopping themselves.

It’s just a cat, and they don’t know who else is here. Just because a place feels safe, doesn’t mean it truly is. They are still most likely on Partizan, after all.

Their eyes adjust to the dark slowly, their vision grainy as their body slowly adjusts. It’s a wide room, mostly taken up by a winding staircase, leading upward. High above them, echoing down the tower, is the muffled sound of a voice, too distant to make out the words or even the tone.

Well, thinks Valence as they begin to climb the stairs, if nothing else, at least they should be able to get a good enough view to figure out where they are.

Every few floors the stairs open up to a room, letting in the morning light. For the first handful the rooms are empty, the furniture there covered by sheets and a thick layer of dust. The ones that do seem in use are such a jumble of uses that they can’t even begin to place the purpose of the tower - on one level what seems to be a waiting area with plush couches, another a library, another floor that has what looks like a mechanics workshop. The only constant is the scent of the sage, drifting in through the tower’s open windows. 

They’re very glad that, however old their new body seems, it shows no sign of tiring as they climb, and climb, and climb. The walls shrink and grow around them to fit the space, at last shrinking again, leading them to a waiting room and what looks to be the final stretch of stairs. They turn what feels like the hundredth corner of the spiral staircase and there, curled up and waiting for them, is the cat. It blinks at them, its tail twitching.

“So this is where you want me to be,” murmurs Valence.

The cat meows, and slips through the door behind it. Valence considers it for a moment, pushing the door open slowly. Inside, the room is cleaned to a spotless shine, the gleaming tiles reflecting the sunlight outside. The scent of sage is even thicker in the air than it was lower down the tower. There’s a small antechamber off to the side, through which Valence can glimpse a more personable looking room, but inside the large room they find themselves in now the only furniture in sight is a tall-backed wooden throne, surrounded by vases of bright poppies. 

There’s a figure on the throne, her face turned towards the window. She looks towards them as the door opens. The sage obscuring her face is the same as the sage wrapped around the tower, the small purple flowers just beginning to bloom. She stands, and the cat heads towards her, winding its way around her legs and looking up at her. Even from this distance, Valence can see the purple gleam of its eyes.

The woman stills, her eyes going wide. She looks up at them, them back down at the cat, one hand going to the arm of the throne to support herself. The cat gives her one slow blink, and then turns, heading back down the stairs. Valence watches it disappear into the darkness below before they slowly turn back.

“Ah, hi,” says Valence.

The woman blinks, collecting herself. “I- Good morning. You must be- you must be new, I’m assuming.”

Valence frowns. The woman’s voice sounds oddly familiar, but they can’t quite place it.

“I don’t know if you’re been able to see much fo the city yet,” continues the woman, “Although certain I, or one of my staff here, will be able to give you a tour, and help you to find a new home-”

It’s right on the tip of their tongue. They’re  _ sure _ they’ve met her before, or at least heard her speak, but they’ve met so many new people since coming to Partizan, if they’re even  _ on _ Partizan anymore-

“I admit, I wasn’t expecting visitors at this hour,” says the woman, “Usually new visitors speak to the Figure first, but I suppose I can be of assistance, if-”

“Oh my god,” says Valence, recognition hitting them sharply, “ _ Clementine Kesh _ ?”

They can just make out her blink of surprise under the sage. “Yes- well, it’s just Clementine now, but I-” She takes a breath, gathering herself. “I apologise. I- many people look quite different when they arrive here you see, and I’m not quite sure… Who are you exactly?”

They glance down at their new copper body. “Oh, right, I’m- Valence?”

Clem frowns. “Who- oh-” she says, her expression clearing, “ _ Valence _ . Yes, I remember. Sorry, I didn’t quite recognise you without your…”

She gestures to her face. They wonder what their’s looks like currently, what expression they’ve been given. They lift a hand to their cheek, feeling the rigid line of glass or crystal, perhaps the same as their torso.

“Yeah, I- I kind of didn’t recognise you either, with the…” They copy her motion to their own face.

Oddly, Clem’s shoulders relax, her fingertips going to the sage mask. “Oh, yes, that. It’s still new, I suppose. It was a gift, along with- Well. Along with everything else, I suppose.”

It might just be a trick of the early morning light, but it almost looks as though the sage curls a little around her fingers. There’s a faint smile on Clem’s lips, more genuine than any of the expressions they ever saw on her during her time on Fort Icebreaker.

"Wait, but didn’t you- you died," says Valence, “I meant, we never found the body, but-”

"Yes, yes," says Clem, waving a hand, "but she brought me back- as she brought you back, I imagine."

"Who?"

Clem blinks. "Oh. Perennial."

Valence feels images flick in their mind. The cat with purple eyes. The sage. The morning light when they’d first opened their eyes, and the way it had given the world a purple haze.

Their hands flex at their sides. “What does she want?”

Clem shrugs. “I don’t know what she wants with  _ you _ , I didn’t even know you were arriving here, since I assumed- Oh! You died too, didn’t you? The others told me about it, it sounded very dramatic.”

Valence goes still. “They, ah, told you about that?”

“Yes, it-” She frowns, peering at them. “Oh, you’re worried about- She’s not here. Crysanth, I mean. You don’t need to worry about a rematch.”

“I was more concerned with how you might feel about it,” says Valence slowly, carefully.

Clem’s frown deepens, but it’s tinged more with confusion than anger. “I… that’s very… kind of you, I suppose, but you don’t need to-” She takes a breath. “We weren’t close.”

“She gave your eulogy,” says Valence.

“She gave  _ a _ eulogy,” says Clem, her voice turning sharp. “I’ve seen the recording, it hardly seems like she was talking about me at all, really.” She pauses. “I mean, she didn’t even mention how good I was at rowing,  _ Gucci  _ would have-” She presses her lips together. “What I mean to say is that I harbour no ill will towards you for it. Or to Sovereign or Thisbe for their parts in it, for that matter.”

“They made it out?”

“Oh, yes, they’re still around,” says Clem, “You’ve only just missed Sovereign actually, he was here for quite some time, going through Past’s records.”

Now she feels a little more recognisable. They remember now, in their dealings with her, that it wasn’t even so much Clem’s vision for the future that made her difficult to speak to, but the way every explanation had to be dragged out of her. The assumptions made when you spent your whole life speaking only to advisors, they supposed.

“Wait,” says Valence, “You’re going to have to- Sorry, how exactly did you get records for Past?”

“We’re- Oh, sorry, I forgot you’ve only just arrived,” says Clem, “You’re on Past right now, or as much of a living fragment of it that there is.”

Valence can’t help it - they laugh. Another victory for Clementine, they suppose, won against the odds and good sense. Clem’s frown deepens again, this time tinged with annoyance.

“Sorry, sorry,” they say, “I just-”

“No, it’s fine,” says Clem, sounding just as annoyed as she had for much of her time on Fort Icebreaker.

She turns towards the window, beginning to point out the landmarks below - the marketplace, the storehouses, where the majority of people have taken up residence. From this height they can see the scope of the city, the sides of it disappearing into the sky as they drift through the clouds. The city looks less damaged from this height, the distance making it easy for their eyes to slide away from the holes and patches and giving the illusion of full repair. They watch the tiny shapes of people moving around far below them, distantly going about their days.

“You said the others were here? From Millennium Break?” asks Valence.

“For a short time,” says Clem, “Most of them were only here long enough to drop off the refugees.”

“Where did they go?”

“They would hardly tell  _ me _ , now would they?” She pauses, letting out an overly-dramatic sigh. “They think I plan to betray them, somehow.”

Valence pauses, considering Clem out of the corner of her eye. Crysanth had many plans, all running in secret, chess moves that presumably were still playing out even after her death. Their experience with Clem, at least as she had been on Fort Icebreaker, was… not someone who possessed that level of cunning. Her face gave her away in every meeting, just as it did now, showing that she was annoyed, and a little childishly upset, to be left out.

“I’m sure Sovereign will return soon,” says Clem.

“Right,” says Valence, “Your Sovereign Immunity.”

“Hardly,” says Clem, “He’s… become a little fixated on going through Past’s records. I don’t think he could keep himself away.”

“Right,” says Valence, wondering what that could possibly mean. “I don’t suppose you have a way to contact them?”

“No,” says Clem, “Or- I could ask the Figure to pass on information to them, but he’s only just integrating himself with them, and I doubt they’d believe him any more than they would me, especially about something like this. It was hard enough to convince them to let refugees on board Past when the world was coming down around them.” She presses her lips together for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps Emmaline might know of some way to contact someone on their crew.”

“Emmaline?”

“She’s very... personable,” says Clem, by way of explanation.

She steps away from the window, heading the stairwell. A crunching sound echoes through the space as they walk and Valence pauses, checking under their feet. The stone steps of the tower are as smoothed as they had been when they’d walked up them.

Clem turns back, frowning at them. “What are you- oh, yes, the noise. That’s just me, nothing to worry about.”

“From you?”

  
Clem takes another step, the sound echoing again. “Yes, they call me the Witch In Glass, now.” She glances at them. “I wonder what they will call you?”

Valence lifts a hand to their face as they follow her, feeling the rigid lines of their new mask again. They wonder what they look like. Their wolf mask had had the ability to shift its expression with their mood, and they doubt the crystal mask will be as accommodating. Maybe Broun can help them find something with a little more flexibility.

They follow Clem down the tower and back onto the cobblestone streets. The city is more awake at this hour although the people are still sparse. Some that they pass who have the look of Millenium Break to them glare at Clem as they pass, casting Valence suspicious looks. Others that Valence doesn’t recognise nod respectfully to Clem as she passes, and a few bow their crystalline heads. Clem, to their surprise, bows back.

“So,” says Valence, “You got your subjects after all.”

“I suppose,” says Clem, “But we are all subjects of Perennial.”

They head, somewhat surprisingly, to what seems to be the more industrial side of the city, storehouses next to machinery in various states of repair and disrepair. Clem looks as out of place in the workshop as she does anywhere else, although much like Fort Icebreaker she doesn’t seem to realise it, walking into one of the smaller ones without waiting for Valence to follow. Sage twists across the entry, the breeze making the scent of the plant drift through the small space, mixing with the smell of soldering metal and rust.

“Emmaline, I need your assistance-”

Clem breaks off as a robotic dog scuttles out from behind the workbench. It paws at her skirts excitedly, and Clem gingerly pats it. The woman on the other side of the workbench, Emmaline, Valence presumes, grins.

“Good morning to you too, Clementine.”

“Yes, yes, good morning,” says Clem, waving a hand, “I- this is Valence, I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”

“I have,” says Emmaline, looking at them curiously, “Although I heard you were dead.”

“Looks like there’s a lot of that going around,” says Valence.

Emmaline laughs. “This is the place for it.”

“Yes, well,” says Clem, “They’re wanting to pass on the good news of their continued survival, and I know you had some contact with Sovereign and Millie before they left.”

“I did, but-” Emmaline turns more towards them. “They’ve already left, or, they will have by now, I mean.”

“Left?” says Valence faintly.

“To spread the good word of Milenium Break away from Partizan,” says Emmaline, “They left for the Portcullis yesterday.”

For a moment the world drops away underneath them. They can picture Broun’s ship in their mind, finally repaired and ready, the red of Partizan growing ever-smaller in the distance behind them.

“Oh,” says Valence.

“I’m sorry,” says Emmaline, her voice quiet.

“No, that’s- I mean, they thought I was dead,” says Valence, “I  _ was  _ dead, so there’s no reason for them to… wait.”

The robotic dog butts its head into Valence’s hand and they reach down to scratch behind its ears.

“Oh, she likes you,” says Emmaline.

“I like her too,” says Valence.

Emmaline laughs, shooting Clem a grin. Clem scowls, turning away to examine something on the workbench. Emmaline steps closer, the two of them chatting about some project Emmaline’s apparently in the middle of - something about boosting the water supply, or conserving it. Valence only listens with half an ear, focusing on the motion of petting the robotic dog and trying very hard not to think of Broun, drifting further and further away from them through the vastness of space. They’re only mildly successful.

“Sovereign will return soon,” says Clem, as they leave Emmaline’s workshop. “I imagine you’ll want to return to Milenium Break.”

“I- yes,” says Valence, “You said there were refugees here?”

“Oh, yes,” says Clem, “they’re a little all over the place, there was a… miscommunication about how many we were to receive, but we managed to find a bed for them all. Or Perennial did, I suppose.”

They don’t see anyone they recognise, and certainly no one who would have known them enough to believe them in their new body, but they’re glad that the people there seem as safe and as cared for as they could hope.

“Perennial provides,” says Clem, and does not elaborate.

It reminds Valence a little of Gur Sevraq, although they don’t mention that to Clem. They can’t imagine she would respond favourably to the comparison.

The night brings the Perennial wave to them, blowing through the streets of Past. From the tower window, Valence can see it gust through, curling around the buildings, making its slow way up the tower. The datapad Clem is holding crackles, the screen turning to static. She smiles down at it, settling back into the throne.

“Do you know how long it’ll last?”

“A time,” says Clem, “It doesn’t really matter.”

Her screen crackles again and she looks down, frowning, her eyes skimming over the screen. She frowns, glancing up at them and then back down.

“What?” says Valence.

“I-” Clem pauses. “Good news for you, I suppose. Apparently there’s something wrong with the Portcullis system. There are- The Blue Channel is on it’s way back to Partizan.”

Valence opens their mouth and then closes it again. It feels hard to find the correct words. Perhaps there are none.

“I can- If you would like I can attempt to make contact,” says Clem, “They perhaps won’t come to you  _ here _ , but I could drop you off somewhere more neutral- What?”

“Nothing,” says Valence, “Just- thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” says Clem, her attention drifting to the window.

Valence considers her for a moment. “I just… I don’t think you would have before.” They pause. “I think dying’s been good for you.”

“It wasn’t dying,” says Clem, “It was Perennial.”

The screen crackles in her hands and Clem looks down, a slow smile forming on her face as she takes in whatever is on the screen. Something about it reminds them a little of Broun’s expression as they’d looked over their ship, that first time. A glimpse of something under their usual expression, something tender and true. Their new chest aches at the memory.

They keep thinking about that through the days as they try to make contact with The Blue Channel, with Broun, with  _ someone _ . Even after they do it takes a long time to convince them to meet.

“I’m sure they would agree much more readily if you would just tell them that it will be  _ you _ meeting them and not  _ me _ ,” says Clem.

“I know, but it’s not...I don’t want them to hear it like this,” says Valence, “I want them to hear it from me, so they  _ know _ it’s me.”

“I don’t see how meeting them in person would change that,” grumbles Clem.

Still, she does keep her agreement to drop them off, making sure they have her communication link before she leaves them.

“Just in case they don’t-” she huffs a breath. “Well, they probably will. But you can still have it, just in case the wheel doesn’t turn in your favour.”

The Blue Channel lands some time later, a short enough while that Valence is sure that they were watching to make sure Clem really left before revealing themselves. Valence watches it slowly descend, spotting the repairs they’d made and some they recognised as Broun’s work. It looks good, they think. Their hands flex at their sides.

The door of the ship opens slowly, and Broun emerges. They look good too, thinks Valence. Their hands flex at their sides again. Broun looks at them, one hand resting on the butt of their gun, their expression wary.

They should have practiced what they were going to say. Something to make them recognisable.

“Who are you?” says Broun.

“I- wait-” says Valence. They focus, reaching out to Broun. It feels like the easiest thing in the world.

_ Hi _ , says Valence.

Broun’s eyes go wide, their hand flexing on the gun.

_ Wait, it’s really me! _ says Valence, stepping closer with their hands raised.  _ I, uh, I don’t- I told Thisbe to tell you I was sorry, and I am, I am sorry, I couldn’t- _

“Shut up,” says Broun, their voice harsh.

Broun steps closer to meet them and for a moment Valence thinks they’re about to take a swing at them and then Broun’s arms are wrapping around them, pulling them close as they collapse into Valence’s arms, their face pressed against Valence’s neck. A sensor in Valence’s new body registers moisture, but they pretend not to notice the tears on Broun’s cheeks, lifting their arms to clumsily return the embrace. It’s a long time before Broun’s breathing steadies out, and Valence holds them through it. 

“I thought you were dead,” says Broun, muffled against the metal of Valence’s neck.

“I was,” says Valence, “But I made a promise.”

Broun’s arms tighten around them, and they leave their face against the crown of Broun’s head, a simulation of a kiss.

“I guess so,” says Broun, “But I- oh, I got your other message too. About your planet.” They take a shaky breath in. “It was- Sounds like an okay plan, once we get out of here, or whatever.”

“Yeah?” says Valence.

Broun nods, pressing close again. Valence closes their eyes. Under the lingering scent of sage is the spice of Broun’s favoured perfume and the crackling smell of ozone from the ship. It smells like home.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


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